As I approach my 100th obituary—of people and, occasionally, species—it feels like an appropriate moment to explain why I write these tributes at all. I was recently interviewed about this work, and found myself reflecting on the questions I’ve been asked about the project.
The instinct behind these pieces is a simple one. Over the years, I noticed how many people devoted their lives to making the Earth more livable, yet received little recognition for that work. When they died, their passing often went largely unnoticed—sometimes even within the movements they helped sustain. Rangers, scientists, Indigenous leaders, field guides, advocates. People who worked in the shadows, often underpaid, overexposed, and increasingly under threat.
The Nature Obituaries Project grew out of that absence. These pieces are meant to capture both the individual and the broader context. They chronicle not only who someone was, but what they fought for, what they endured, and what their loss means for the rest of us. In doing so, they aim to honor lives spent largely out of view, while also illuminating the larger purpose those lives served.
They also reflect a conviction that conservation is not a romantic endeavor, nor an abstract one. It is a deeply human project, shaped by commitment, loss, persistence, and care—sometimes at great personal cost. The death of a ranger, a biologist, or a community leader is not only a personal tragedy; it can also represent the loss of hard-won knowledge, experience, and continuity.
Writing obituaries is not easy. They are emotional, often based on limited information, and require navigating delicate terrain. I certainly don’t get them right every time or even most of the time. But I believe they matter. They are a way of saying: this work is not expendable—and neither are the people who do it.
Why did you start the Nature Obituaries project?
The impulse came from a quiet but persistent observation: many people who devoted their lives to making the Earth more livable received little recognition. When they died, their passing often went largely unnoticed—sometimes even within the movements they helped sustain.
I began writing these tributes as a way to honor lives spent largely out of view, while also shedding light on the larger purpose they served. Each obituary tries to capture both the individual and the invisible—not only who someone was, but what they stood for, what they endured, and what their absence means for the rest of us.
The project also reflects a belief that conservation is not a romantic or abstract endeavor. It is human work, carried out by people who face setbacks, risk, and doubt. Remembering those who carried that work forward grounds any sense of optimism in something real, not sentimental.
How long does it take to write an obituary?
It’s highly variable. Some pieces take a few hours. Others take much longer. One obituary I published in 2024 took more than a year.
Several factors influence the timeline: how much information is available, whether people who knew the individual are able to share insights, and whether I feel I can capture the essence of a person. Not every obituary I start gets published. Sometimes I can’t quite get it right. Other times I need to sit with it—occasionally for months—before the through line becomes clear.
How do you turn around obituaries for well-known conservation figures so quickly?
After Tom Lovejoy died on Christmas Day 2021, I realized it would be useful to develop a set of prewritten obituaries for prominent conservation figures that could be quickly adapted for publication after their deaths. Since then, I have written dozens of these, ranging from brief sketches to full obituaries, focused on individuals over the age of 70. Some of these are ready-to-go with minor edits; others require significant rework after further reflection, but they are always helpful to have when responding to someone’s death.
Can I see the list?
No.
What is the hardest part of writing obituaries?
The hardest part is often information—especially understanding a person’s character. Public achievements are usually easier to document than the quieter traits that shaped how someone moved through the world.
If I didn’t know the person personally, I’ll often send a small set of questions to people who did. I’m trying to understand how they were experienced by others, not just what they accomplished.
Writing obituaries can also be emotionally demanding, even when I’ve never met the person. But bringing that emotion into the piece is often what makes the difference between a good obituary and a meaningful one.
What is your process?
Once I’ve identified someone, I gather as much information as I can. Interviews they’ve done are especially helpful. I’ll also reach out to colleagues, friends, or family members when appropriate.
I typically write two versions: a full-length tribute and a shorter version for social media. The short version can be surprisingly difficult—I tend to struggle with cutting details, especially when those details feel essential to understanding who someone was.
How do you decide who to write about?
There are far more people whose lives merit recognition than I’m able to write about. Capacity is the limiting factor.
Some of the obituaries I feel strongest about are those that tell the story of someone who came from modest means or worked quietly, without much recognition. These lives often reveal something essential about conservation: so much of it depends on persistence and love, not accolades.
How do you find people to write about?
I have news alerts set up and monitor a few other channels. Increasingly, people reach out directly with suggestions—often colleagues or friends who feel someone’s passing deserves wider recognition.
Why do you focus on recent passings rather than historical figures?
I focus on writing obituaries shortly after a person’s passing—usually within weeks or months. While many remarkable individuals from the past went unrecognized, my current capacity is limited. I don’t have help with this project, and it sits outside my day-to-day responsibilities at Mongabay.
I hope to expand the scope someday. For now, prioritizing recent losses allows me to write with greater immediacy and, when appropriate, connect with people who knew the individual personally.
Does writing obituaries make you depressed?
It can be emotional. Some stories are crushingly sad. But I try to leave the reader with at least a measure of inspiration.
Even in loss, there is often evidence of courage, generosity, and purpose. The possibility of recovery—of species, ecosystems, or movements—has shaped my worldview. We’ve seen it happen. These tributes help me hold onto that perspective.
How can someone submit a name?
I’ve created a form where members of the public can share word of a nature guardian’s passing. It helps ensure I receive accurate information and appropriate context, especially during a sensitive time.
How can I get updates?
I publish these pieces here, on the ButlerNature blog aggregated under the obituary tag. Some of them are also published on Mongabay and LinkedIn, though they may be longer or shorter versions of what you find here—again I typically publish two versions of each piece (sometimes three if I need a really short one for another platform). And I just started a separate Substack publication, Nature Obituaries, that will regularly carry pieces. You can subscribe for free to get pieces in your inbox.
